The Cabal (#16 - The Craig Crime Series)

by Catriona King

Her answer emerged as a shout. “YES! Yes, that’s him. Oh God help me, he’ll kill me! He’ll kill Rupert! He said he would.”

  Craig drew her down beside him on the sofa. “He won’t kill you, I promise. In fact, it’s probable that he’s on his way out of the country already.”

  The madam wasn’t appeased. “You don’t understand! He’ll come back. That’s what he does. He comes in and out of Ireland all the time.”

  Craig seized on the information. “From where?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. Europe somewhere. He had an accent.”

  He doubted it was from the west.

  “And he’ll come back again. He always does!”

  Andy tried to calm her. “He has no reason to return to Northern Ireland again. We believe that whatever he was tasked to do is almost over.”

  She turned to Craig for confirmation, his nod making her relax but only for a second.

  “Do you know his name, Mrs Lewis?”

  She was staring straight ahead now, and Craig watched as her thoughts raced across her face, all of them fearful. Eventually the madam answered in a small voice.

  “He said I was to call him Colonel.”

  Craig was puzzled. “Colonel? Colonel of what?”

  She shook her head, and as Craig watched exhaustion suddenly etched every year of her half-century on her face. He signalled to Andy that they were leaving, reassuring the madam before they did.

  “I’ll post officers outside your door for a few days, until we catch him, and we have officers watching your son as well.”

  Her mouth opened to object but Craig shook his head.

  “At a distance. He doesn’t know they’re there, and he’ll never know how you earn your money, I promise. As soon as we know where this Colonel’s gone, I’ll make sure that you’re informed.” He smiled kindly at her and opened the front door. “Get some sleep, Mrs Lewis. You’re safe.”

  By six a.m. Craig knew exactly how safe Veronica Lewis was. There’d been no point trying to get back to sleep, and he couldn’t have done anyway, not while his men were still at work, so when his phone rang in the staff canteen where he’d been sitting bantering with a bunch of undercover drugs officers, he knew it had to be coming from the squad-room and immediately raced the three floors up.

  “What have you got for me, Davy?”

  The analyst shook his head to say that it wasn’t good news. “He got away, chief. Facial recognition has him at Dublin airport an hour ago, boarding a flight to Germany. Frankfurt.”

  East Germany. It was exactly where Craig had expected him to run to, that or Russia.

  “Under what name?”

  “George Harrison. Must be a Beatles’ fan.”

  It could have been worse. While their fugitive was still in Europe there was hope that they might retrieve him. Ash piped up, interrupting the detective’s thoughts.

  “I’m running him through Europol and Interpol databases, chief.”

  “Good. What passport did he fly on, by the way?”

  “British. But maybe it was a fake?”

  Or maybe not. The presence of people like Basil Hartnell at the party said that accessing any passport for one of their associates would probably be an easy task.

  “OK, leave those running, Ash, please, and just do one more thing for me then you can all go home. We’ll be briefing tomorrow but not until two.”

  Ash poised his hands above the keyboard. “Fire ahead, chief.”

  “Send that picture to Vala Raske at BPOL.”

  ****

  Berlin, Germany. 7.a.m. Local Time.

  Vala Raske wasn’t woken by the beep of her smart-phone because she was already seated at her desk, staring in despair at an image that had been sent to her two hours before, that of a limousine’s rear number plate as it disappeared onto a ferry at Wolgast on the Baltic Sea. Her men had tailed Beatrix Hass and her lover to the port and then had to watch impotently as the mafia man and his moll had waved them a two-fingered goodbye. Next stop Baltiysk in Kaliningrad, the Russian province between Poland and Lithuania, courtesy of her boss making her back off.

  The chief inspector didn’t know which she was more depressed by, losing the bastards or having to tell Craig that his assassin was out of reach, so when she opened the message that Ash had sent part of her wanted to cheer that she might still be able to help. The other part of her was in shock.

  The silver haired man staring back from her screen was dead, or at least everyone had believed so. Oberst (Colonel) Maximilian Weber, a notorious Stasi Officer, tried in nineteen-ninety for crimes against the German people and sentenced to ten years, suspended by the Bundesgerichtshof (the German Federal Constitutional Court) who had overturned the convictions on the basis that the Stasi was acting on behalf of a sovereign power at the time of its offences. Weber’s particular talent had been Zersetzung, the State’s infamous decomposition technique; the process of psychological harassment and terrorising people, while barely even raising your voice.

  However, the Stasi’s men hadn’t got off scot-free; negative public perception of them in unified Germany meant that some of them had suffered badly, although not half as much as their victims had. Many others had simply disappeared or died of old age, and Weber had been thought one of them.

  The Ministry for State Security or the State Security Service, commonly known as the Stasi, had been based not far from where she now sat. The official state security service of the German Democratic Republic, the old East Germany, the Stasi had been one of the most effective and repressive intelligence and secret police agencies to ever exist. Its motto had been ‘Schild und Schwert der Partei’, Shield and Sword of the Party, referring to the then ruling Socialist Unity Party of Germany or the SED.

  They were events rarely discussed now, things that had happened decades before when she was in her teens, but that was no excuse for her naiveté. The experienced police officer slumped back in her seat, shaking her head in disgust. How could she ever have believed the SED would have allowed its top men to be put out to pasture? After all, many senior Nazis had remained in the country, unprosecuted and working in plain sight, so why not the Stasi five decades on? She wondered exactly where Weber had been all the intervening years. The KGB and Stasi had worked closely together and it would have been an easy trip for him across the border to communist Russia. But more than that Vala wondered what he had been doing in Belfast.

  She lifted the phone to call Craig and then suddenly remembered the time. Better to let him sleep and call him tomorrow, hopefully when she had something more useful to say. Meanwhile she would post her loyal men at Frankfurt airport, despite her seniors’ instructions to stand down. Maybe she couldn’t lock Weber up herself, but she could ensure that Craig got his chance.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Whitehall. Sunday morning.

  “Damned incompetence! One week to go and the group gets exposed!” The elderly man shook his jowls. “Idiots all of them! Worse than idiots, if I could think of the right word!”

  The silver fox was unperturbed, more engrossed by the spectacle of the normally controlled mandarin becoming emotional than by the arrests of dispensable men. He swallowed his mouthful of whisky smoothly and set the crystal tumbler down by his side.

  “Why are you so worried? It wasn’t the inner core, just a regional branch. Everything is as it has always been. Nothing will divert us from our path.”

  His host stared at him, angrily at first at being disagreed with and then with a grudging smile. Perhaps there was more to the foreigner than he’d first thought. He knew how to hold his nerve at least. After a moment saying nothing he nodded.

  “They mustn’t be allowed to talk.”

  The subtext was clear. He wanted the Zeus Circle’s incarcerated members taken out. Even though The Fox had half-expected it, the politician’s ruthless ability to kill men that he’d worked with for years still took him aback. He shook his head.

  “Too risky, and it’s unnecessary
to kill all of them. One will be enough to scare the others into silence.”

  “Darrian?”

  “No. Already injured. They would just assume that his death was linked with that. Someone with a higher profile would work better. I already have someone in mind.”

  The Whitehall mandarin smiled maliciously, knowing exactly who he meant.

  “Do it quickly, and make it painful. That bastard climbed over my nephew on his way up.”

  He would do it, and then he would get the hell out of the UK, before the remainder of the group decided to do the same to him.

  ****

  Ken Smith’s Apartment. Eglantine Avenue. 10 a.m.

  Relief was the ex-soldier’s first thought when he heard Craig’s greeting over his intercom, his second was chagrin that he’d missed out on what had obviously been an exciting operation the night before. His third thought was how quickly he could brew some coffee to accompany Craig’s freshly baked croissants.

  When two each had been devoured he finally asked why the detective was there. The question made Craig smile.

  “Can’t I just drop by with some housewarming croissants?”

  “You can, but you really didn’t. So, what is it that you need?”

  Craig pondered how to put his request for a moment and then decided to defer it with some thanks.

  “Thanks for understanding why I called you last night, but don’t tell my folks or Lucia. They don’t need reminding that my job is dangerous.”

  “OK. So?”

  The lack of frills made Craig chuckle. “You get straight to the point, don’t you? OK, but this can’t go beyond this room. You’re not in the force yet, and you’re not on my squad even if you were.”

  “I understand. Shoot.”

  In the next few minutes Craig outlined everything that they knew about McManus’ and Regent’s deaths, Beatrix Hass their assassin, The Zeus Circle and the previous evening’s raid.

  Ken puffed out his cheeks, astounded.

  “Bloody hell! You really think they’re trying to influence the referendum vote?”

  “Convinced of it. We haven’t got them all, not even the ones working here, but there’s nothing I can do about that right now. Our primary job is to solve two murders, and I know for a fact that the two people responsible have got away. Beatrix Hass is in Germany being watched by a friend of mine, and the man she was recorded talking to wasn’t amongst the men we lifted last night.”

  Ash had stayed at work doing voice matches on the prisoners, without him even having to ask.

  “So how can I help?”

  Craig swallowed hard, knowing that he could trust Ken but still never one hundred percent sure that he could trust anyone. He decided to take a punt anyway.

  “One of the men we lifted last night was Basil Hartnell.”

  Ken’s jaw dropped. “Home Secretary Basil Hartnell?”

  “Yep. Look…I’d like you to use your contacts through the MoD to find out what you can about him. You know how Whitehall gossips.”

  From his experience of working in London the place was worse than a knitting circle for passing rumours on.

  Ken found his voice again. “But can’t Ash find-”

  Craig’s headshake was emphatic. “He can only find what’s in the official files and I want the dirt. The real stuff that never gets written down. Who has Hartnell pissed off? Who wants him out, who wants him in? Who’s he sleeping with? You know the kind of thing.”

  Ken shrugged. “I can probably get it, but will it really help you?”

  “God only knows, but the smallest thing could be something right now. If it’s any comfort I’ve other people doing the same for the TDs, MLAs and business people we lifted, but as Hartnell was the only English Minister there I thought of you.”

  Ken slid off his stool, walking to the window to gaze out at the street. It was a sunny day and he could see dog walkers in the distance. His desire to be one of them added to his vagueness as he spoke.

  “I’m not high up the food chain, Marc. It’s not like I can ring the Chief of the Defence Staff and shoot the breeze.”

  Craig stood up. “Trust me, I’ll take any leverage I can get right now. We have two dead men, a Machiavellian group that’s lawyering up with people whose headed paper I couldn’t afford, and a killer who’s miles away.” He opened the front door. “Just do what you can and let me know.”

  The detective’s exit was interrupted by his mobile ringing.

  “Yes? Liam? Where are you?”

  “High Street, and you’d better get down here ’cos Jack’s chucking his toys out of the pram.”

  Craig waved goodbye hastily and made for his car. Fifteen minutes later he saw exactly what Liam had meant. Jack Harris was storming red-faced around the station’s reception, muttering to himself. When Craig appeared, he pointed towards the staff room and shooed both the murder detectives in. No sooner had the door closed than the sergeant turned on them.

  “A journalist, a thug, and now a dozen of the so-called great and good, all baying for my blood and threatening me with law suits!” He took out a hankie and wiped his forehead. “It’s a Sunday morning, for God’s sake! Quiet, sleepy Sunday. A day of rest, or it was till you two started!”

  Craig sat down, hoping that the others would follow. Like all the best body language it worked. First Liam and then Jack took a chair, still wiping and muttering to himself. Craig leaned forward, speaking in a soothing voice.

  “OK. So... Let’s bail Wilberforce and brief Reggie to keep an eye on him on the Demesne. Mercer will have to stay, I’m afraid-”

  Jack went to object but Craig waved him down.

  “The whole thing will hit the evening edition if he’s released, Jack, and whatever you do don’t let him see who’s in the other cells. He’ll start writing profiles on them.”

  He sat back slightly before speaking again. “However…”

  The sergeant’s face lit with hope.

  “How many of the others have lawyers?”

  Jack prefaced his answer with a sigh. “All of them except one. That bloke Hartnell. Some posh solicitor from London’s coming specially this afternoon.”

  It made sense.

  “And what are the other briefs requesting?”

  “Bail or released on their own recognisance.”

  Liam shook his head.

  “R.O.R.? Not a chance! With that bunch’s resources, they’d skip the country and we’d never see them again.”

  Craig nodded. “I have to agree with Liam. Charge them, get them arraigned and then tagged on bail. House arrest preferably, and their passports need to be seized. Liam, post some uniforms outside their houses.”

  Jack narrowed his eyes, puzzled. “With all due respect, sir. Charge them with what? Sitting around at an orgy talking Greek?”

  Liam scoffed. “Have you seen the drugs haul from that party, Jack? Charge them all with possession and intent to supply until we can suss out who did what.”

  Craig nodded. “I want Loughrey and Burke held on conspiracy to murder as well. Kyle’s informant, Trevor Rudkin, can confirm they were in on McManus’ murder plot. But I want him charged with the others to keep his cover intact.”

  Jack was almost appeased. “I’ll get Loughrey and Burke held on remand at Maghaberry, but that’ll still leave Mercer and Hartnell here.” After a moment’s consideration he sniffed, conceding that it was an improvement. “OK, I suppose I can live with that.”

  “Just keep them apart while you’re sorting things, please. We’re off to Stranmillis to check on the others, but I warn you, Jack, I’m inclined to bring any of their remnants that can’t be bailed down here, just so we’ve got them all in one place.”

  At that point, the sergeant’s muttering turned rude.

  On the way to Stranmillis Liam asked the question that Craig had been hoping to avoid.

  “What’s next, boss? We can’t get past their lawyers to get information from any of them, so the chances of anyone admitting the
re’s a plot to highjack the referendum are zilch.”

  Craig gave a non-committal grunt that failed to silence his deputy. Liam had always been talented at talking to himself.

  “And even if they did admit they’d been exerting influence, how could we stop it? At the end of the day, if the actual referendum vote is handled properly and double-checked, and we can easily tip them off to do that, then it’s not a crime to influence the way people think. If it was then every TV advertiser would be in jail!”

  This time Craig did have words. “They’ve attacked army bases, incited hatred-”

  Liam cut in. “And whoever did that on the ground should, will be arrested and charged, but proving a direct link from this bunch to street-level thuggery is a hell of a stretch, boss. Even if we could do it, it would take months, so back to my original question…in the cases of our two murders, what’s the next step?”

  Craig turned left off the Malone Road into Chlorine Gardens and parked up behind Stranmillis Station before he replied.

  “Did anyone ever tell you you’re a pain in the ass, Liam?”

  “My lovely wife, every single day. But you still know that I’m right.”

  Craig climbed out of the car, talking as he walked. “That’s what makes you one. You are right, but the only answer I can come up with is one you’re not going to like.”

  He pushed at the station’s heavy rear door and entered, looking for Jack’s equivalent John Maguire and going through the same plan with him. By the time they’d finished and were drinking tea in the staff room, all but two prisoners had been sent for arraignment and those two were being ferried down to Jack.

  Craig couldn’t avoid Liam’s question any longer.

  “OK. The next step is that I’m going to Germany to get Beatrix Hass.”

  Liam shook his head instantly. “Not on your own, you’re not! You get yourself shot at here often enough, so God knows what you’d manage over there.”

  Craig smiled. “I was hoping that you’d say that. Glad to have you along.”